


Morning

by Minuialeth75



Series: Our Universe [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 09:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14329059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuialeth75/pseuds/Minuialeth75
Summary: Steve. Bucky. The morning before.





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> It's best to read "The Weight On Your Shoulders" first.

Steve’s starting to awaken, his dream slipping out of his reach. He’s warm, and the light behind his eyelids isn’t strong. It musn’t be late. He’s about to roll on his side to catch a little more sleep when suddenly there’s the vague notion that he should open his eyes. It’s not threatening so it doesn’t send him into soldier mode but he’s more awake now. He blinks and the first thing he sees is Bucky.  
Bucky’s lying on his side beside him, his head propped on his metal hand, and it’s likely the strange feeling he had was Bucky staring at him while he was sleeping. Again.

“Y’ know it’s really creepy, right?” Steve says, his voice raspy from sleep.  
“You might have mentioned that, yes,” Bucky answers, an amused glint in his eyes.  
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”  
Bucky’s look turns a bit more serious. “I might enjoy the fact that you’re not wheezing through the night.”  
“I used to do that, didn’t I? When it happened neither of us could get a proper shut-eye.”  
“S’ good to see you sleeping soundly.”  
“Actually, I’m not often able to do that. Only those last few nights.”  
“Only you would sleep better with an ex-assassin in your bed, Rogers,” Bucky says lightly, but his eyes tell a whole another story.  
Steve turns on his side to mirror Bucky’s position. “I’ve always slept better when you were here, back in the days.”  
Bucky’s gaze turns wistful. “You needed me back then.”  
“I still need you, Buck. I’ll always need you.” Steve extends his hand to gently caress – almost reverently – Bucky’s forehead with his fingertips. Predictably, Bucky’s eyes fall shut. Sometimes, Bucky is like a cat. He craves contact so much Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he started purring. 

Steve hadn’t grasped how touch-starved Bucky was until a few days ago. He realized that the only physical contacts Bucky must have known for the past 75 years were most probably blows, needles and whatever horrors they had done to make him stay under their control. It had been like a punch in the gut. He didn’t remember the serum transforming his body feeling that painful. So he had decided that Bucky would get to be slowly reacquainted with touch, one step at a time.

Apart from their – first – kiss a few days ago, Bucky hasn’t initiated contact, even if he’s positively reacting to whatever Steve does.  
The fact that Bucky – who was quite the ladies’ man – lets him take the lead and never tries to go further, tells him all he needs to know. 

They’re both wearing pyjama bottoms – Steve’s, because apparently Bucky has left Wakanda to see him without any belongings.  
He had mocked Steve’s taste in nightwear “Damn Steve, I swear you bought them in the grandpa section.” “Yeah well, beggars can’t be choosers, Barnes. Besides, we’re as old as grandpas.”

Bucky also wears Steve’s clothes during the day, which never could have happened before the serum. Bucky had been the one lending Steve his thicker clothes back in the days when it was too cold for the flat’s heating to keep up. He remembers feeling safe and cared for, dwarfed in Bucky’s sweaters, at the time not recognizing the feeling for what it was.

Steve leans in and his mouth replaces his fingertips on Bucky’s forehead. Bucky’s eyes flutter open.  
“I was hoping you’d put your lips elsewhere,” he says. Steve freezes. His tone is light but it’s the first time Bucky asks for something he wants instead of letting Steve taking the lead.  
“You want me to kiss you?” he whispers because apparently his voice is stuck in his throat. He worries that he didn’t answer quickly enough and that Bucky might think he didn’t like his request.  
Bucky grins. “Yes, punk.” Steve’s heart gives a lurch because although he’s aware the Bucky he knew isn’t quite here with him – and that’s fine with him, he knows he’s changed too – sometimes bits of him shine through.  
Before Steve can come back from his reminiscence, Bucky closes the hairbreadth distance between them and tenderly ravages his mouth. This isn’t what Steve was expecting so he’s not able to keep his reaction in check like he’s been doing since the physical intimacy between them began a few days ago. He moans.  
He doesn’t know if it’s intentional or if it’s because of his reaction, but Bucky’s left arm – the indestructible metal one – seems to give out and Steve cups the back of Bucky’s head so he doesn’t merely crumble on top of him but is gently guided there. And, oh. They’re chest-to-chest, skin seemingly touching everywhere when in fact it’s only their upper bodies.

Bucky breaks the kiss. Steve hopes it didn’t seem that he was manhandling him because he pulled him on top of him, and he realizes both his hands are now tangled in Bucky’s long hair so he’s preventing him from moving away. He lets go. “Buck, I’m so—”  
“You gotta stop apologizing or stopping each time you think you’ve overstepped.” Bucky’s eyes are soft. “It’s not like I’m not strong enough to stop you.”  
Bucky props himself on his elbows and his hair falls around them like a curtain. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exists.  
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” Steve tries to explain. He should have known Bucky would guess what he was doing.  
“It’s _you_ , I’m with you, it’s okay, I _know_ you, Steve,” Bucky says, so close that Steve is seeing the universe in his eyes and he’s _home_. For the first time in 75 years, he’s truly home.  
“I love you, Buck.” His vision gets blurry.  
Bucky gently cradles his face in his hands, both the flesh and the metal one. “I’ve loved you since you were that scrawny Brooklyn kid. I still do. I always will.”  
“’Till the end of the line?”  
“’Till the end of the line.”


End file.
